


Ice Sharp

by Niitza



Series: Olympics AUs [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Sports, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Ice Skating, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 17:32:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13594950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niitza/pseuds/Niitza
Summary: In which James B. Barnes gets a new figure skating partner and discovers, much to his distress, that he has A Type.





	Ice Sharp

**Author's Note:**

> 1) This fic has been written in honor of the Winter Olympics that are about to begin. Cannot. Wait. With a little bit of luck it won't even end with a nuclear alert forcing everyone to evacuate too!
> 
> 2) As I said I would, I 100% blame [layersofsilences](http://archiveofourown.org/users/layersofsilence/) for this - who was also lovely & kind enough to beta the whole thing so I guess this is also a thank you <3
> 
> 3) Warnings to avoid confusion & disappointment: this is no Bucky/Nat fic, their relationship is and remains entirely platonic, although they make one hell of a kickass skating pair.

"You sure you don't want me to come?"

Bucky looked up from his sports bag, which he'd been checking one last time to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, and looked over at the bed, at the small lump entirely buried under the covers with only tufts of blond hair sticking out. He couldn't hold back a smile.

"No need," he said, zipping the bag shut. "It's just a test trial."

The lump shifted and a scrunched up face appeared, eyes struggling to stay open. "But you're nervous."

"I'm not _nervous_ ," Bucky said, standing up from his crouch and walking over to sit at the edge of the bed. He reached out to run a hand through his boyfriend's hair. "A bit expectant, maybe."

Steve had closed his eyes again, weighted down by sleep and soothed by Bucky's caresses. He wasn't fooled, though. "You know they'd give me the morning off if I asked."

"I know," Bucky replied. "But I'm okay, I swear. Plus, I like the thought of at least one of us getting to sleep past 5 a.m."

Steve snorted. "Like you don't enjoy your early morning calls," he mumbled. "You masochist."

He knew Bucky so well.

"Go back to sleep," Bucky said, leaning in to drop a kiss on Steve's temple.

"Mph." Steve burrowed deeper into the covers, sounding for all the world like he was doing him a favor—very reluctantly.

Bucky stayed where he was, watching his boyfriend's face and stroking his hair until Steve's breathing deepened again. Then he got up, picked up his bag and left, quietly closing the bedroom door behind himself.

 

*

 

"It's just a test trial," he'd said. Ha ha. As if.

He remembered how Rumlow had guffawed when he'd heard. Hell, he wouldn't put it past that dick to have actually gotten up early just to watch the potential fiasco unfold right in front of his eyes.

Or not: when Bucky reached the ice rink, there was no sign of that smarmy asshole, nor of his ugly orange Porsche. But then, unlike Bucky, Rumlow had never managed to train himself into becoming an actual morning person—despite how much he always ranted about discipline, or bragged about all the hours he spent at the gym.

_Methinks the man doth have something to compensate for_ , Steve had said after meeting him for the first time, complete with that posh British accent he'd picked up from Peggy. A cherished and useful memory: Bucky brought it to the forefront of his mind every time that douchebag got on his nerves. Up until now he'd never lost his cool.

So, no slimy bastard around this morning. Yet someone was already here when Bucky entered the hall: a rather small woman, her bright red hair tied up into a tight bun, doing laps around the rink.

Bucky knew who that was. Natalia Romanova, age 22, originally from Russia but she'd taken the leap across the pond and agreed to start training for the American team after her last—her _sixth_ —partnership on ice had come to an end. Whether the switching of sides had been her decision or the FFKK simply deciding to cut its losses by breaking the contract it'd had with her was unclear. She was talented—despite her hectic career she'd always placed well, even brought home a couple medals—but none of her partnerships had held for more than two seasons. Two of them had ended with a career-ending injury for her male counterpart; the others hadn't fared much better in the aftermath either. It had earned her the nickname of Black Widow. And Russia might be big and full of talented people, but even it didn't have an infinite supply of poor schmucks with the right skills set to throw into that net.

So now _Bucky_ was the next poor schmuck—hence Rumlow's guffaws, even though he'd already gotten his fair share of snide sniggers in when Bucky's former partner, Dot, had up and left without warning. She'd gotten pregnant, and wanted not only to keep the baby, but to care for it full time for the first years of its life. Bucky couldn't begrudge her that, but he would've appreciated some kind of heads up. He hadn't even known she had a boyfriend.

Steve, of course, had been furious on his behalf. And had kept growing more and more indignant as months had gone by and Bucky's coach had been unable to find him another partner: everyone was already paired up, or simply didn't click with him on ice. Bucky wasn't quite worried yet—he wasn't that old, even though he was definitely too far along in his skating years to switch to the solo track—but that was already nearly one full season where he wouldn't compete. He would prefer it not to turn into two.

So here he was. _Not_ nervous. More like anticipatory. Curious. Hopeful.

Yeah, right.

Ms. Romanova was bound to have heard him come in—not matter how careful you were the service door always slammed shut and echoed throughout the rink—yet she hadn't slowed down for a second, or even glanced in his direction. She kept doing her warm-up laps around the rink, alternating steps and one-turn jumps, like she couldn't care less about the person she might end up working with in close cooperation for the next months, if not years.

This looked _so_ promising.

 

*

 

When Bucky returned from the changing rooms, skates and training gear on, his coach, Phil Coulson, had reemerged from wherever he'd been and Ms. Romanova had deigned to interrupt her warm-up. She was still on the ice, though, near the boards, drinking small sips from her water bottle as she listened to her own coach, a tall, dark-skinned man Bucky recognized as Nick Fury.

Somehow, he wasn't surprised by that partnership: the man's fearsome reputation certainly matched hers.

"Ah, James, good," Coulson said when he caught sight of him, and proceeded to make introductions.

Ms. Romanova's smile as she shook his hand was frosty. "I've heard your former partner is expecting," she said. "I imagine congratulations are in order."

"Um. Okay?" Bucky replied, not quite sure what to make of that. "I'll pass on the message if I see her."

Which wouldn't be any time soon, given that by now Dot wasn't as much expecting as sleep-deprived and baby drunk. Kid had been born nearly a month ago, Bucky knew: he'd received a card. Even Steve had had to admit that the baby in the picture was damn cute.

Ms. Romanova was still smiling, but it didn't look pleasant. Bucky was relieved when the two coaches called them to attention so they could start their session.

Like he'd told Steve, it was just a trial, nothing fancy: some warm-up, steps and spins then jumps, double and a couple triple, first separately then side by side to see how synchronized they could be.

"Let's see a hand-to-hand," Fury called out at some point and okay, Bucky would've expected them to try lifts on the ground first, but Ms. Romanova didn't bat an eyelash and had slid closer even before Bucky had spun around to start skating backwards.

"You better not have slacked off in the arms department," she told him as they gathered some speed and joined hands. "If you drop me I'll kick you on the way down."

 

*

 

Bucky didn't drop her. She was lighter than Dot, which didn't come as a surprise, given that she was also an inch or two smaller.

She was heavier than Steve though.

But then, everyone was.

 

*

 

"I see some potential," Coulson said after he'd called an end to their training session. Nick Fury didn't say anything, which Bucky surmised meant he didn't disagree. Or at least not entirely. He couldn't be sure: the man's resting face was one of constant, thunderous disapproval.

After a short discussion—both he and Ms. Romanova confirmed they'd be willing to give a partnership a try—they were sent back to the locker rooms to shower and change so they could all go out for lunch to hash out an agreement. The second they were out of sight, the young woman dropped her ever-present smile. She whirled around and stepped right in front of Bucky, effectively stopping him in his tracks. The glare in her eyes wasn't much better, but at least it was honest, and therefore a lot less unnerving.

"I said I'm willing to give this a try," she said, "but I have ground rules."

Bucky, who'd known his fair share of high-strung skaters over the years, refused to let that intimidate him. "Shoot."

A lot of it was basic: that he'd be serious about training, that he'd show up to practice on time, that he'd follow the regimen drawn up by their coaches, physician and dietician, that he wouldn't get drunk or stay up all night before a competition, that he'd trust her to know her limits and so never ask if she was sure before trying new figures _and_ —given the tone of her voice _this_ was the One Rule To Rule Them All: "I don't sleep with my partners."

Bucky, who'd been feeling the faintest beginnings of worry, relaxed. "Oh. Okay." That'd be an easy one to follow.

Ms. Romanova seemed caught off-guard by his easy acceptance. " _Ever_ ," she stressed. "Not even to 'celebrate' a medal."

It was a bit hasty and presumptuous to already be thinking of acquired medals, but Bucky guessed he could appreciate the ambition. "Yeah, okay," he repeated.

She frowned. "I mean it," she said tightly, her accent showing through for the first time. "If you try anything I'll use your crotch as target surface for toe loop practice."

Bucky scowled in turn, piqued that she felt the need to insist that much and be so aggressive about it. He'd already agreed, what more did she need? It was like she thought he wasn't taking her demand seriously and—

And that was when the tiny Steve living in his head gave his brain a good kick: _of course_ she thought he wasn't taking her demand seriously, given how flippant he was being about it. It probably wasn't the first time she was asking for such a guarantee and had obtained a quick agreement, only for her partner to try and go back on his word at the first occasion. Bucky wasn't blind: Ms. Romanova was pretty, beautiful even, if you were into that kind of thing. And thanks to Steve he wasn't too much of an oblivious idiot, so he could guess the rest: she might be a top level athlete, she was still petite, especially when compared to guys like him—like her previous partners. She was young—but she'd been even younger. There was no need to be a genius to see what that might equate to. And now that he was looking for it, he saw it in her eyes, beyond the anger, the warning, the iron grip she had on herself: something like wariness, like apprehension.

Suddenly, the premature end brought to her previous partners' careers didn't seem so tragic anymore.

Bucky held her gaze, weighing his options, before he said slowly: "I got a boyfriend."

He couldn't help but feel wary too as he said it. He didn't want to be prejudiced, but she was Russian: he knew how gay people were treated over there. But at the same time, he might as well get it out there and over with right now. That was _his_ ground rule, after all: not being a homophobic asswipe.

Ms. Romanova blinked. She hadn't expected that. "What's his name?" she asked, looking at him searchingly, as if trying to catch him in the middle of a lie.

"Steve," Bucky replied, and found that he was done with that conversation. He deftly stepped around her and headed for the showers.

She didn't stop him.

 

*

 

"How did it go?" Steve asked when Bucky got back home in the afternoon. He was at his working station, glasses on and stylus in hand, but he hadn't been in the middle of something: if he had, he wouldn't even have heard the door opening.

"Eh," Bucky replied, dropping his bag and walking right over to get a kiss. The day might not have been intense training-wise, but he felt wiped all the same. "I don't know. Weird."

He plopped down on the ground to rest his head on Steve's thigh, closing his eyes with a soft groan when Steve reached down to thread a hand through his hair in a reverse of that very morning.

"'Weird' sounds better than last time," Steve said cautiously.

"It was," Bucky conceded. "But I have no idea if it'll work out. She's good, but she's… prickly."

Rightly so, maybe, but still.

Steve chuckled. "Then it'll be all right, won't it?" he said, because at least he was self-aware: he knew that no one could be pricklier than he was.

 

*

 

And so training began.

A month in, Bucky would've said that it was going rather well, apart from one thing: Natalia seemed to have become obsessed with Steve. She kept asking questions about him, and Bucky didn't know if she was trying to call him out on his bluff—when there was no bluff—or if she was curious because somehow they were the first gay couple she'd ever known up close, or if she was just teasing because she'd noticed how prickly the countless questions made _him_. It was all: "How did you two meet?" and "How long have you two been together?" and "What is he like?" and "Do you plan to get married?"

Most of the time Bucky didn't answer. But sometimes he did, if only so she wouldn't start to believe that she was right and that Steve didn't exist.

"What does he do?" she asked once.

"He's a designer for Stark Industries."

"I didn't know Stark Industries dabbled into fashion."

Bucky gave her a look. Her expression was entirely dead-pan, yet somehow he knew she was secretly smirking. She loved to do that, he was coming to realize: pretend she didn't quite master the English language, that some levels of significations were beyond her. No doubt she knew perfectly what 'design' meant in any and all contexts. She was just waiting to see how he would react.

He decided not to disappoint.

"You know how every couple of years they get out a new gadget no one knew they needed but certainly do now, and all the other companies scramble to try and catch up and come up with something that is the same and looks the same but not too much so they don't get sued for copyright infringement? Well, half of that success is due to what said gadgets look like, while being easy to use. And that's all thanks to the designer team. And Steve works on that team. Handpicked right out of college for it, too."

Because Bucky wasn't above bragging about his genius boyfriend whenever he could.

Another time she asked, "What does he look like?"

Of course, she did so while they were in the middle of a pair spin. Bucky gave her a baleful glance. "Prettier than you."

And then she asked, "Can I meet him?"

To which Bucky replied with a flat, "No."

 

*

 

Of course, that last answer was the biggest lie ever: everyone at the rink had met Steve, even Rumlow. He came by often, either to drop off something Bucky had forgotten at home, or simply to watch him practice.

He was very appreciative of the sport, you see.

The only reason he hadn't lately was that he was working on a big project and couldn't spare the time.

It couldn't last.

 

*

 

Natalia had arrived early to afternoon practice and was lazily drawing lobes on the ice when she heard the door to the rink open and close. She glanced over, but the person who'd entered wasn't anyone she recognized: it looked like a boy, with a mop of blond hair, thick framed glasses and a brown satchel. Curious, she skated closer—maybe he was lost and needed help—but as she did so she realized that he was much older than she'd first thought: this wasn't a boy at all. Yet he waved at her almost childishly and smiled when she stopped on the other side of the boards.

" _Good afternoon_ ," he said, in properly articulated, if a bit stilted, Russian. " _Are you Natalia Romanova_?"

" _Finally, someone civilized_ ," she replied in the same language, only for the young man to give her a sheepish look.

"Sorry," he said, switching to English, "I've only reached chapter four of my self-study book."

"You're learning Russian?" she asked. He had to be the first person she'd met since she'd arrived here who knew anything—who was _interested_ in anything—beyond _Da_ and _Ja ljublju tebja_.

"Trying to," he said. "It's the least I can do." He reached out a hand and said, once again in Russian: " _My name is Steve_."

She paused mid-handshake. " _You're_ Steve?"

" _Da_ ," he replied, now grinning: he knew perfectly well where her surprise stemmed from.

He was nothing like she'd expected, nothing like she'd pictured. She'd been so very curious about him: you could learn a lot about a man by meeting the person they'd chosen to share their life with, by seeing how he interacted with them. But James had been cagey, in a way she hadn't known whether to find amusingly charming or subtly unnerving. Well, she understood better now. And at the same time she didn't understand at all. Because _this_ —this tiny slip of a man with eyes as blue as the sky and hair as bright as sunshine, _this_ was the person James called his boyfriend. _James_ , who was one big pile of thunderous grump except when he was on the ice, who looked one chromosome away from a grizzly bear when he forgot to shave, who would've fit right in in the Russian mafia without having to try…

Well. This was interesting, to say the least.

"Steve," she repeated, testing the name in her mouth. She smiled. " _Please call me Natasha_."

 

*

 

She had it all wrong, of course. Or backwards. Anyone who'd known James Barnes and Steve Rogers for more than a few months would be able to tell you that looks were deceiving and that, of the two of them, _Steve_ was the difficult one: a bundle of stubbornness and short fuse indignation dipped in piss and vinegar, always ready to—loudly—give you a piece of his mind even if you hadn't asked for it, and to hell with the consequences. He only behaved—only made an effort—with a select few people: his mother, his boyfriend, and those he'd somehow decided would be his friends, without them quite knowing why but way too happy about the privilege to ask.

Fortunately for Natalia, James' skating partners were on that short list. Or at least they started off on its appendix—'people Steven G. Rogers would warily give the benefit of the doubt to'—with the possibility of ascending to higher spheres, if they were lucky.

Things weren't so complicated with James. He was cautious in his relationships to other people, true, but it was because he'd been hurt before, his kindness and willingness to help taken advantage of. He looked forbidding with his impressive height and muscle mass, but it was only a facade: the shell protecting a warm, tender center. He was a marshmallow inside, a teddy bear. He regularly broke his own heart rescuing kittens he then had to give away because Steve was allergic. Hell, the main reasons he worked out that religiously was to be able to loom behind his boyfriend's shoulder more dissuasively and to ensure he could lift and throw his partners without risk of his hold even faltering.

Sharon Carter would confirm. She'd know: she'd been training at the same ice rink for years. And she remembered: when she'd won silver at the 4CC, James had baked plum muffins for her celebration party. Steve, on the other hand, had spent the evening ranting about how the judges had been unfair to the Korean contestant, who in his opinion had been much more deserving of the bronze than the Canadian one.

Natalia would figure it all out sooner than later, if she stuck around.

 

*

 

She stuck around.

 

*

 

5 things Natalia Romanova learned about her new skating partner—and his own partner:

1) Sharon Carter was right: _Steve_ was the difficult one. If she had to sum up his personality in two words it would be: FIGHT ME.

2) He came and went at the rink following no discernable pattern. He worked from home, and so made his own schedule, apart from when he had to take a conference call or travel down to New York for a series of meetings. You always knew when the latter happened, because it invariably sent Bucky on a downwards slope of yearning and grumpiness.

3) However, Steve was around when they put their program choreographies together. As it turned out, he was behind the most original lifts Bucky had performed with his former partner, half of which he'd figured out by climbing all over his boyfriend. Bucky didn't seem to mind—much to the contrary. Now Natalia understood better how come his lifts hadn't been the slightest bit rusty when they'd had their tryout.

4) Steve wasn't half bad as a figure skater either. He'd mastered most jumps—single turn—and could perform a frighteningly quick upright spin. But he lacked bendiness and stamina, and invariably ended any sit spin on his butt.

5) Bucky _adored_ him. He was also staunchly monogamous, despite what his looks might've led one to expect. It was a nice change, to skate with a partner who never tried to cop a feel. Nice, and very welcome.

 

*

 

5 things James Barnes learned about his new skating partner—and about himself:

1) His first assessment had been correct: she was good. Extremely good, and professional, and used to skating in pairs. She was quick to adapt to a new partner, and Bucky did his best to follow along. They made quite a dashing pair; of that he was acutely, proudly aware.

2) She was very fond of uttering very graphic threats—even though she had to have realized by now that, with him, there was no need for them. His personal favorite was: "If you take advantage of this lift to try and take a peek up my skirt I'll gouge your eyes out with my toe picks", which was probably because it hadn't been addressed at him, but at Brock Rumlow, who had since stopped lingering to watch them practice altogether.

3) She was also a reckless madcap. It was all "Toss me higher" and "You _will_ give me the momentum I need for a quad" and "Let's try that lift one-handed" even though they hadn't practiced it on the ground, and when even Fury put his foot down and instructed caution she got that _look_ in her eyes. A very familiar look, Bucky realized, much to his distress.

4) Like-minded as they were, she and Steve got on like a house on fire. She taught him Russian and made him drink _kvass_ and together they watched and laughed over propaganda movies from the 30s and 40s. He introduced her to all their friends and showed her around Montreal and gave her the last kitten Bucky had inadvertently rescued (she had been left in a dumpster! it had been raining!), which she named Liho. Sometimes, on weeks that weren't too busy at work for Steve, Bucky would enter the ice rink after some warm-up jogging and stretching and find them fooling around on the ice: Natalia seemed intent on having Steve land an axel, and she got a kick out of the fact that he was light enough for her to lift him, while _she_ was small enough for him to lift her. Bucky tried not to be grumpily and stupidly and very irrationally jealous over that last fact.

5) Despite all this, his and Natalia's partnership was going well. Or maybe—more accurately—it was going well _because of_ all this. Clearly, James B. Barnes had a type.

 

*

 

Five months in and they were coming up to their first major competition, having qualified easily. Bucky was nervous, even though he'd deny it. It wasn't good: if nothing was done he'd work himself up into a big ball of stress, which always turned him into one hell of an inconsistent skater.

Fortunately, Steve was here, and knew what to do. Over the next week he faked a couple coughs in Bucky's presence, a couple sniffles. Not too many, but enough to engage Fretting Boyfriend Mode. It was almost too easy—but then, it was December, Bucky had been on the lookout for any sign of illness. And given that on his scale of values Steven G. Rogers' well-being ranked higher than a professional career as an internationally renowned athlete, his focus was soon diverted from stressing over his abilities as a skater to worrying about his boyfriend—and trying to reign in that worry, because he knew how much Steve hated it when he hovered. Fortunately, skating practice came as a nice distraction and he threw himself into it with renewed vigor.

By the time the U. S. Championships rolled around, Steve had 'miraculously' withstood the first onslaught of winter flu, and Bucky and Natasha couldn't have been more ready.

 

*

 

That is, until the evening before the competition, when Steve—who'd accompanied them to Kansas City—dropped by Natasha's room to wish her goodnight and found her half-way into a breakdown. It was so unexpected that, for a second, all he could do was stare.

"What if we fail and I end up deported back to Russia?" she asked, much more dramatic than he'd ever thought she could be. But then she'd clearly left a lot of bad experiences and memories behind when she'd moved here, and wasn't keen on risking reliving them.

Steve did some quick thinking and said, "Let's re-watch _Alexander Nevsky_. As a reminder: even you will agree that you can't do worse than the Teutonic Knights during the Battle of the Ice."

They re-watched _Alexander Nevsky_.

Natasha had to admit: Steve had a point.

 

*

 

To absolutely no-one's surprise—except maybe the jury and the other contestants, who were entirely blindsided—they won the gold.

Sharon Carter scored the silver.

Brock Rumlow fell quite a ways off the podium. Once again, no one was surprised—except him.

 

*

 

On the way back to Québec they dropped by New York to celebrate with Steve's mother and James' family, which when you included distant relatives and friends was extensive enough to fill the entirety of the bleachers at the ice rink where they trained. As it was, they more or less pushed out all the other patrons of the bar they descended on. The owner didn't seem to mind. Either he was used to it, or he was already salivating over the 10 foot check he'd bring out at the end of the night.

Natalia was a bit overwhelmed—she'd grown up an only child and an orphan—but she felt like she could get used to it. Besides, Steve's mom was nice enough to stick close and so ensure she was never alone.

She was even tinier and fierier than her son.

"Next up, the 4CC!" Steve exclaimed at one point, raising the bottle of beer he'd been nursing all night in a toast. Everyone followed.

"Next up, the Olympics, you mean," Natasha mumbled to herself. She'd never been one to curb her ambitions.

Of course James heard her: he was sitting right beside her. He gave her a look, raised an eyebrow. By now she knew he didn't like to be hasty—count his chickens before they were hatched, as the saying went here, or so she believed. But then he got that crooked little smile at the corner of his mouth. A knowing smile, mischievous, conspiratorial. He clinked his glass against hers: a secret pact.

A promise.

They drank.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes:
> 
> \- "FFKK" is the acronym for the Figure Skating Federation of Russia. "4CC" is short for Four Continents Figure Skating Championships, which are an equivalent to the European Championships meant for athletes from all continents _but_ Europe (i. e. Africa, America, Asia and Oceania);
> 
> \- [here is a glossary of ice skating terms](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glossary_of_figure_skating_terms), for those who are lost and/or curious;
> 
> \- [here is a video link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_uez8dJ-MGw) to the Battle of the Ice scene from Eisenstein's movie _Alexander Nevsky_. Music by Prokoviev. I'd recommend watching this masterpiece in its entirety, if only for the Teutonic Knights' helmet - keeping in mind that it came out in 1938, back when Germany  & Russia were still supposed to be friends;
> 
> \- and [here is a link to the tumblr post](http://princessniitza.tumblr.com/post/170580904686/ice-sharp-niitza-captain-america-movies) for those who'd like to reblog :)


End file.
